


I think I've seen this film before

by Ludicrous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludicrous/pseuds/Ludicrous
Summary: It had all ended on a sidewalk. London's fog had been thick enough to choke on.This was written for the prompt "This isn't what I wanted" from @mystradepromptsandscenarios.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 18
Kudos: 104





	I think I've seen this film before

It had all ended on a sidewalk.

London's fog had been thick enough to choke on.

Mycroft’s chauffeur had waited for them to finish. As if it was merely a friendly conversation, instead of their last.

Greg had been foolishly hopeful. He had laughed it off. 

He knew what a mismatched couple looked like; he had been in one, a lifetime ago.

Mycroft's face hadn't moved an inch; he was already ten thousand miles away.

But really, Greg should have known from the moment Mycroft stepped out of the car. His face had been closed off, his eyes as cold as on the day of their meeting.

When Greg had looked down, mid-rant, he had glimpsed it. Mycroft’s fake ring, back on his finger. It glinted in the light of the streetlamp above them.

Had he ever taken it off? Or had he kept the charade all this while? Greg had felt the heat of shame suffuse his body. _I'm a fool._

Mycroft had not said much. His lips were tightly closed, a sickly white in the darkness. 

"This isn’t what I wanted," he repeated.

For a second, two voices got mixed up. One male, one female. The same words.

A shaky breath and it was gone.

Greg heard his heart getting torn apart, one part leaving him to follow Mycroft’s car. 

It dropped down on the pavement, getting brown with mud. Greg didn’t pick it up.

He watched, his damn broken heart still beating, beating, _beating_. 

Mycroft didn’t turn around. Greg could see his profile in the window, tall against the devastation surrounding him.

A thought occurred to Greg, one crystal-clear fact in a sea of chaos.

Nobody would remember them; nobody would know how they were. Laughing in bed, Mycroft's milky skin catching the morning light.

Beneath Greg's eyelids, the memories turned yellow and faded away, like old photographs left under the sun.

It had ended there, with a few words. Not even an explanation. The silence would stay. A void without words.

Greg had turned as grey as his city. Every night, he would listen to the voices of his neighbours. His ears waited for that one voice, that precise knock on his door.

Only silence answered.

The world hadn't ended there. Life hadn't given him time to mourn. There were other hearts to break, after all.

Sherlock fell.

Greg watched, helpless, as John turned grey too. The old soldier with a broken heart and a shaky leg.

John's hand was steady where it rested on his pint - it didn't shake either when he turned the secret revolver around and around in his hands. 

Somehow, they kept going. It wasn't ideal and it wasn't what Greg would have wanted either. But it was all they had.

Slowly, the traces of gunpowder disappeared from John's fingers. When they went out to the pub, he smiled and it didn't look forced.

Greg's hand stopped shaking around his cigarette.

Small miracles.

And then, the Holmes brothers waltzed back into his life. Sherlock, first, with his confident smile and his upturned collar. He looked as pale as death but then, he always had. When Greg hugged him to his chest, he felt real. Not a ghost.

Then, Mycroft. Always on his brother's wake yet never beside him.

He looked paler than his brother. His skin was stretched over his bones as if he had neither slept nor eaten in days.

His faithful ring was nowhere to be seen.

They stared at each other, standing among the ruins. All the words they had never said tore at their throats. Neither spoke.

Greg nodded, slightly. Mycroft's expression softened, somewhat. It heightened the dark rings around his clear eyes.

Greg resisted the urge to fuss over him, to fix his collar and pass a hand through his mussed hair. Mycroft wasn't supposed to be anything but perfectly put together.

Mycroft's hand quietly shook at his side. It brought a small smile to Greg's lips; _he misses me too_.

"I lied," Mycroft's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

Other words came after, they tumbled out of him like water through a broken dam. The words washed through Greg like waves, soothing old wounds.

He had used someone else's words, words that belonged to another breakup, to push Greg away. To keep him safe.

And then, a sniper had been assigned to him anyway, because of his association with the other Holmes.

"A slight miscalculation there, don't you think?" Greg could not bring himself to smile.

"I was wrong," Mycroft's voice was raw with overuse. His eyes were wide and longing, longing, longing.

When they kissed, it was far from perfect. There weren't any fireworks lighting up the sky behind them.

But it felt right. Mycroft's hands pulled at his hair the way Greg remembered, his skin was just as smooth under his fingers.

"I want this," Mycroft admitted in a murmur, low in Greg's ear. "It's all I've ever wished for."

Greg tucked Mycroft closer. He heard Mycroft's heart beating, _steady, steady_. It sang of unknown futures, of days spent together, of endless mornings spent laughing next to each other.

Two pale grey silhouettes embraced in London, in the middle of the street. Nobody noticed them.

Perhaps it wasn't a proper beginning, but it was the start of something new. A second chance.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Exile by Taylor Swift. I also listened to Gale Song and Take This Longing, if anyone is interested.


End file.
